


Alarums and Excusions

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the unfinished Stepping Stones series.</p><p>Bodie is late arriving to an operation, with dire consequences for Doyle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alarums and Excusions

Doyle maintained an effortless stream of complaints as he set out the equipment by the narrow side-window that overlooked the alleyway on the other side of the street. The alley offered rear access to those householders foolhardy enough to entrust their cars to its rutted length; by the number of vehicles parked along either side of the road, few people cared to risk it.

"I hate surveillance," he groaned, as he rediscovered the discomfort of camping stools.

"Don't knock it," advised Bodie mildly. He took up position to the side of the netted front window, managing to make his own stool look comfortable. "It's peeing with rain and damn nearly freezing outside. Where would you rather be right now?"

"Tucked up in bed with Patty, that's where. She's on leave for the next three days, same as I was supposed to be. Had it all fixed up. Bloody Cowley! This isn't what I joined CI5 for, you know. I mean, I can understand you needing the experience but I've been on enough obbo jobs to last me a - "

"Save it," said Bodie, who was in a mellow mood after an exceedingly energetic night between silk sheets. He made a minute, unnecessary adjustment to the tripod supporting the camera, having no intention of allowing Doyle to suspect how much his feelings were shared.

"Stop playing with that. It's all right for you, I had those three days’ leave signed and sealed. Seventy-two hours off duty with no fear of being called in. Supposedly. Now I don't expect miracles but equally I don't expect to be hauled in for a stakeout the bloody cleaners could handle. Patty wasn't at all pleased," Doyle added pensively. He wondered if flowers might not have been a better sweetener than the greetings telegram he had sent her.

"Ditched you, did she?" interpreted Bodie, with a spreading grin.

His scowl intensifying, Doyle maintained a dignified silence.

oOo

 

Bodie's satisfaction was short-lived. By the evening of the third day it would have been difficult to say which of them was the unhappier. The heavy rain which had fallen throughout the surveillance period had done little to lighten their mood.

“Who the hell are they anyway?” demanded Bodie, on the morning of the fourth day, “extreme left or extreme right?”

“Does it matter? Anyway, it’s time you started listening to the briefings instead of relying on me,” said Doyle, who couldn’t remember.

"Have a good evening, did you?" asked Bodie, neither expecting nor  
receiving a reply.

In the ensuing silence the rain continued to splatter against the misted windows, the rotting wooden frames offering ample room for the cold air to set the stained net curtains in a gentle but constant motion.

Bodie huddled deeper into his parka. '"s bloody freezing in here." He  
wondered if he could get another layer of clothing on and remain mobile.

"Poor circulation, that's your trouble. Your blood's thinned out from all that skivin' off in foreign parts," said Doyle, secure in the knowledge that his window frame fitted marginally better. "Lucky the fire's on the blink really," he  
added philosophically. "It wouldn't do to go steaming up the glass and missing all the excitement, would it? Who knows, the postman might call with some second post.''

For want of anything more exciting to do Bodie decided to eat what passed for lunch. Having undergone his usual unrewarding struggle with the clingfilm, he peered at the contents of the CI5 sandwich. After a dubious sniff, his nose wrinkled with distaste, his appetite waning.

"These sandwiches are liver-sausage!"

"Can't be," said Doyle with a sunny confidence. "I told Gill they were for you."

"In that case I'm surprised they're not sprinkled with arsenic," muttered Bodie darkly, having blotted his copybook with the lady in question after standing her up three times in one week, courtesy of Cowley. "Wanna swop?" he added, with little real hope.

"What with? I've eaten mine."

"Already?" Bodie stared across the room with disbelief. "Bit previous weren't you, it's only half eleven!”

"Marvellous how time flies when you're having fun."

"What were they?"

"What?"

"The sandwiches," said Bodie with suspect patience.

"Ham and pickle on brown and very nice too." Good anticipation enabled Doyle to dodge the crumpled paper bag hurled in his direction.

"Bloody politics," growled Bodie. Gingerly he removed the unappetising filling and dropped it into the tangle of clingfilm before biting into the limp, damp white bread.

"Sodding Italians," he continued, his voice a little muffled by the size of the mouthful he had taken. "Why can't they muck up their own backyard? Even this bread tastes disgusting." He tossed away the uneaten remains.

Doyle's attention remained on the alleyway. "If you don't stop complaining you'll find that sandwich being rammed somewhere you'll find it difficult to ignore. Set up your camera and come and take over here, I need to pee."

"So go ahead." Bodie’s stomach gave a melancholy rumble.

The atmosphere between them one of irritable restraint, the day wound its way to an uneventful conclusion, when Matheson and King arrived to relieve them. Their mood miraculously lightened by the prospect of twelve hours freedom in front of them, not to mention Matheson and King's obvious lack of enthusiasm for the nightwatch, Bodie and Doyle emerged onto the wet pavement smiling.

The only hiccup was caused by Bodie's inability to remember which car he had taken out of the car pool that morning.

"You'd forget your own head if it wasn't bolted into place," sighed Doyle, heading unerringly for a sludge-coloured Ford Estate.

"Just so long as I'm covering your back when you need me you've got nothing to worry about.”

Having taken that for granted in the five months they had been teamed Doyle gave an unimpressed grunt. Already wetter than he cared for, he slid into the passenger seat.

There was a blissful silence while they both thawed out.

"That's better," Bodie sighed. "Thank god today's over. I hate stakeouts."

"'s wonderful how you manage to hide it so well."

Bodie subjected him to a hard stare.

Doyle held up a placating hand. "OK, I know, you've had enough. Me, too."

"Of you, while we're on the subject."

"I try," conceded Doyle modestly, watching Bodie's mouth twitch in  
acknowledgement. "Glad to see you’re concentrating on the road again. I half thought we were going to end up on the front seat of that bus."

"It can be arranged. I'll even give you the bus fare," Bodie offered equably.

"Nah, prefer being in here with you."

"And the heater," said Bodie, under no illusions. "Stop moaning, forget the day and sit back and enjoy yourself."

"Enjoy what?" enquired Doyle, wondering if he was missing anything.

"The fact that we've earned our crust for the day and that the night stretches out ahead of us. Tomorrow it a new day."

"OK, what's her name?"

"Who says it has to be a bird?" demanded Bodie, a trifle miffed that Doyle hadn't leapt to any of the other - equally obvious - conclusions to account for his lightness of spirit.

Doyle contented himself with the giving of an expressive snort.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that when I see some yellow feathers disappearing down your throat I don't need to ask what happened to the canary."

Bodie's beam broadened.

"How long's this been going on for then?" pursued Doyle.

"Not nearly long enough," replied Bodie happily, taking the car through an about-to-change light and some tangled traffic.

"Like that, is it?" nodded Doyle wisely, more than a little envious of his partner's undeserved good fortune.

"Pure gold, my son. You're too young to hear about it."

"Stop being' so aggravating. What’s she like then - heart of Mother Theresa and the intellect of - ?"

"Not quite."

“Aha!"

"More like 'Oho!’ She's stacked, loaded, and thinks I'm wonderful.”

"I think I'm going to be sick," announced Doyle, hollow-voiced with envy.

Recognising as much, Bodie's look of smug satisfaction intensified. "Probably all that lunch you stuffed your face with," he replied, slow to forgive that particular stab at his most vulnerable spot.

"See, I don't understand how you can live like this," pursued Doyle piously. "Here physical compatibility’s all very well but I prefer something - "

"We all know what you prefer," interrupted Bodie. "Shame Patty dumped you. So what are you doing tonight - or should I say who?"

"You  
if you don't stop gloating," Doyle promised him pleasantly. "This won't last, you know."

"Yes, 1 do," agreed Bodie the realist. He parked as close as was possible to Doyle's flat. "But until it stops 1 intend to make the most of it. This is the fourth night in a row I've had off and she's even more eager." Almost too eager, he admitted mentally. "I could get to enjoy stakeouts just for the security of knowing I've got the evening free."

"Yeah?"

Doyle's disbelief was interrupted by the RT and Cowley's impatient voice. Doyle listened to the Scot's plans for them with an excess of good humour.

"Well, that's that then," he said, tucking the handset away. "Up at four-thirty and back to the jolly old stakeout in the expectation of seeing Romaro in person. Our first big job. I hope you appreciate the fact that it's an honour to be chosen? Shame you'll have to cancel your evening, though."

Bodie made a quick recovery. "Who's cancelling? Louise won't mind an early start to the day."

"No?"

"Why should she, she'll have the pleasure of me to make up for it."

Doyle gave him a look of loathing, knowing Bodie was probably right; his birds always let him get away with murder. "You're revolting, you know that?"

"And irresistible."

"Just make sure you're punctual for once. This is one stakeout I'm not covering for you."

"Ray, would I?"

"Like a shot if you thought I'd let you get away with it."

Bodie shrugged that irrelevance to one side. "I'll be there. I'll even get Louise to fix us something decent for lunch," His obvious anticipation was infectious and despite himself Doyle returned his grin before getting out of the car.

"I can't stand anymore of this. I'll drive myself in tomorrow, save you a bit of time. Have a good night, and no,1 won't want to hear all the gruesome details, you lucky sod."

"That'll make a change," remarked Bodie dryly. He had driven off before Doyle could think of a suitable retort.

oOo

 

Curled in front of the fire Louise gave a languorous stretch, propped an arm on Bodie's knee and smiled up at him.

"That was lovely!"

His head against the back of the winged chair, naked excapt for the open robe he wore, Bodie watched the play cf the firelight over her body with a predatory satisfaction. "We must do that again sometime."

"I'm relying on it. The sheets are just the colour of your eyes today."

Bodie swallowed his flippant comment. Louise might be stacked and loaded but her sense of humour was sadly under-developed; so far he had managed to modify his conversation - it saved a lot of depressing explanations.

"Mmm," he said, enjoying the jiggle of her breasts as she moved.

"Mmm," she agreed, abandoning her wine for the delights of this dark-haired, hard-muscled man she had found. She had expected something very different from him on the first night, in the mood to experiment outside her usual social sphere. That night had taught her there was more to Bodie than met the eye. Far, far more, she mused contentedly, drawing her nails across the tender flesh of his lower belly in a swirling downward pattern of pleasure/pain.

There was a flash of amused, confident blue.

"You wouldn't," he said arrogantly, stretching out to greet her touch.

Uncurling, she knelt up to nuzzle the lax warmth of his genitals, yet to tire of the scent of him. "No," she agreed, "1 wouldn't. Not yet. Come to bed, Bodie, it's getting late and I want to see you against those sheets."

"Yeah?" A moment later the gleam was gone from his slitted eyes. "Sounds great, sweetheart, but it can't be done."

"You said you had the night off," she protested pouting up at him. This time she was determined to discover what he did for a living. They were jolly odd hours for a security man, she knew that much.

"The night, yes," he agreed, "but I've got to be in at five-thirty and I don't think you'll appreciate me crawling from between your sheets at four-thirty in the morning." He leant forward, his hands sifting through the artistic curtain of her hair before he kissed her on the nose.

"Four-thirty?" she echoed with disbelief, accustomed only to coming home at that hour.

He nodded, wondering what it would be like to live in a rose-coloured bubble, totally cut off from the realities of working for a living. "Four-thirty," he confirmed, trusting in his accompanying look of sorrow to do the trick.

Louise sighed, then brightened as she enjoyed the picture he made sprawled in front of her. But there was more to Bodie than a lazy sensualist... "You'll need some sleep then."

"A little," he agreed, unable to resist her challenge even while his body groaned in protest.

"The alarm can go on your side of the bed," she said briskly, the warmth of her breasts brushing against him as she leant over him once more, the scrape of her nipple tightening his body even before the first delicate touch of her tongue.

 

It was very late when they finally arrived in her bedroom. Ankle-deep in carpet and unfazed by the blatant femininity of the furnishings, Bodie paused and ruefully set the alarm. His attempts sabotaged by delicately wandering hands, it was some time before Louise gave him the opportunity to sleep.

Finally sated, she knew she would sleep long and late, and smiled at the dark head on the adjoining pillow. He was fit, but not perhaps fit enough. Probably wasted too much energy on that mysterious job of his... A green glow caught her eye. That damn alarm! No one went to work at four-thirty. If Bodie took the day off, they could spend it together.

She slid from the bed, padding around to unplug the radio-alarm before sliding back under the covers. Offering a contented lick to one of the marks she had left on him, Louise was asleep within minutes.

oOo

 

The sound of the wind penetrating even double glazing and heavy velvet curtains woke Bodie. He wriggled further down into the warmth, grimacing as his scratched back protested. Sounds horrible outside he thought drowsily. Much better off here.

Where was here?

Reluctantly opening his eyes again he studied his darkened surroundings and remembered. Certain that his bones had been drained hollow sometime in the night, he wondered if it might be advisable to have a night off. Louise wouldn't take kindly to failure and there was no way he was going to be able to keep up with her. Maybe he should have had the oysters instead of that steak? Or maybe it was just old age catching up with him. Better ask Doyle, he thought with a sleepy grin, he’s more likely to know than me.

Strewth, he was tired. Hoping Romaro stayed away today, Bodie wandered whether it was worth going back to sleep before the alarm went off. Peering down he tried to locate the luminous dial; failing to find it he remembered he was still wearing his watch.

"Bloody 'ell!"

Seconds later he was out of bed, briefs and trousers on, fumbling with the zip while he searched for his shirt. Ruthlessly he flicked on the lights. No time to go home to shave or change, not with Romaro in the offing. Bodie groped for his shoes, yet to locate his second sock.

There was a sleepy stirring from the bed, Louise emerging from beneath lavishly draped silk as she propped herself up on one elbow. "Bodie, what are you doing under the bed?" she asked fuzzily, having difficulty in focussing on him without her contact lenses.

His socks found, Bodie still needed one shoe and was unable to find anything remotely humorous about the delay. "The alarm didn't go off."

The brisk, business-like voice was new to her. Louise decided she approved of it. "No, it wouldn't have. I switched it off."

It took a moment for her announcement to sink in. Bodie's eyes narrowed.

Aware of a delicious prickle of apprehension, Louise stared at him with  
luminous eyes, making a few mental adjustments to her plans for their day together.

"You did what?" he said, his voice controlled and quiet.

"I switched it off," she repeated, oblivious to the warning signals. "It can't hurt for you to take one day off, everyone does it. If you're worried about your precious job, don't be. I'm sure Daddy can find you another."

The only thing worrying Bodie was the fact that he could lose his partner in a very final manner.

"You stupid bitch! If anything happens to - "

Realising he was wasting valuable time, he grabbed his jacket and left, already down the first flight of stairs by the time Louise had drawn an outraged breath. The luxury block of flats had an intricate security system and a slow-moving night porter, wasting precious moments more before he reached the street. It was still dark, the rain pounding down. Almost dropping the car keys in his haste, Bodie finally succeeded in opening the door, screeching down the slickly wet road as he fumbled for his RT, which he had left in the car overnight.

"4.5. Come in, 4.5." The worst of it was, he knew that despite Doyle's threats Ray would cover for him as long as he could. With Romaro in the offing that could be far too long.

There was a crackle of static befcre he heard a familiar voice. "Bodie? You bastard! Where the hell are you?"

"About twenty minutes away," he admitted, grim-faced.

"Make it ten at most," suggested a cold voice. "While our friend hasn't turned up, one of his mates has. Matheson and King will take the back, Tommy'll be coming in with me. Cowley's ordered us in with the milkman, which is around 6.15. Before, if there's any sign of movement."

"Tommy!" Aware that his voice had risen, Bodie fell silent.

"Yeah. So be here."

Ten minutes later Bodie, white with anger, found himself trapped in an impressive traffic jam caused by a burst water-main. Using his siren and various anti-social tactics, which left outraged motorists blaring their horns in his wake, he finally escaped. He heard the RT crackle: Doyle announcing that they were going in.

Bodie concentrated on gaining every available road advantage. Matheson and King weren't bad but he and Ray were better together. As for Tommy... Tommy, poor bastard, was a nutter.

Rounding a familiar corner, having remembered just in time to switch off the siren, Bodie saw a frantically running figure heading towards him, the gun in his hand making it obvious this was more than someone late for the early shift at the miIk-bottling plant round the corner. Then came a distant shout and the sound of gun fire. The runner, his arms pumping like pistons, darted into the road, glanced over one shoulder and stopped. Turning, he assumed a familiar stance.

Even with the car slowed to a mere nine m.p.h. the open driving seat door made a formidable weapon. The unconscious terrorist was handcuffed to the door-handle before the appalled witness in the car behind Bodie's had time to do more than stall the engine. By then, having scooped up the handgun the terrorist - one of the Belucci twins by the look of him - had inadvertently dropped, Bodie was halfway down the street. Neighbours who were emerging from their tiny front gardens to see what the untimely commotion was about, parted before him like wheat before a combine harvester. Bodie hardly noticed them, his sub-conscious satisfied they were no threat.

Vaulting over the closed gate of number fifteen he heard two more shots from the back of the house and King shouting. By that time Bodie had called out to announce his presence and was through the open front door, ignoring the cuffed and bleeding figure, at the foot of the stairs - the second Belucci twin.

Two down, an unknown number to go and no sign of Doyle.

Front room clear, King guarding a slumped figure in the kitchen and Tommy, beaming hugely, vanishing down the alleyway, followed by Matheson.

"Doyle?" he demanded.

"Upstairs," replied King.

With no more than a nod, Bodie moved on. At the head of the stairs he paused, assessing the blank, closed doors. Which?

He separated out and closed off the increasing sounds of activity outside the house - screeching brakes, RT's and distant sirens - as he caught the murmur of voices.

Third room on the right.

The voices rose, Doyle's clearly audible before it was drowned out by a stream of staccato Italian. Even as Bodie moved into the attack he heard a choked cry, followed by a single gunshot.

Framed in the doorway, missing nothing of the scene in front of him, Bodie came out of his crouch, his movements laboured, like those of a very old man.

"Ray? You all right, mate?"

Rezini, four feet from the door, was very obviously dead. Doyle, huddled on his knees among tumbled bedding, was shuddering for air and grey-faced.

"Yeah." Doyle's head bowed again, but not before Bodie had seen the contained agony on his face.

Hauling out his RT Bodie called down to King to confirm the situation, including the fact that the other bedrooms remained unchecked. Learning that an ambulance was already on its way and that Tommy and Matheson had returned with their prize Bodie cut transmission, heeling the door to a close before he kicked aside a sprawling sleeping bag.

"You hit? Ray, let me - where?" he asked, trying to sound reassuring as he crouched beside his partner, who was bent almost double, frozen into immobility in an attempt to ward off further pain.

Doyle's harsh breathing filled the silence. "You ever been kicked in the balls?" he asked finally, his voice sounding unfamiliar.

"Oh, christ!" For a moment Bodie was aware only of relief before his face tightened in empathic pain and he placed a hand on the bowed shouIder. No need to ask if it was bad; there was no good way to take a boot in the balls.

''No," said the same tightly controlled voice. '"He had very little to do with it. Gun jammed on me. Rezini thought he'd got himself a hostage. Being a bit peeved about the way the milk was delivered, he put the boot in. Caught me because I tripped on this soddin' bag. Still, it unjammed the clip."

"Can't rely on automatics," said Bodie tersely, needing to express his relief in some way.

"Or your supposed partner." Doyle uncurled with caution but an involuntary sound of pain still escaped him. "You bastard! One got away from me, he was in here with Rezini."

"I stopped him."

"Yeah? Lucky you got up then, wasn't it? Where're the others?"

"Downstairs with the survivors." Bodie was still keyed up, alert to the slightest sound within the house despite the confusion of sirens and voices outside. "Four men should've been enough to take this place."

"They would've been if two of them had been us. Where the fuck were you? Five-thirty, remember? You better have a good excuse handy or I'll have you for this. My partner! And will you get your fucking hand off me!"

At that unpropitious moment Matheson, still flushed from his exertions, entered the room.

"He'll be all right," said Bodie, following the direction of his gaze. "Rezini isn't. There's one of the Belucci twins cuffed to my car farther down the road. He'll need an ambulance."

"So Murphy noticed. House is clear."

"Good. We'll be down in a minute. Ray needs to get his breath back.”

The closed door having been insufficient to cut out Doyle's voice, Matheson maintained a tactful silence on that point. "Glad to hear it's no worse. Make it snappy, Ray. The old man isn't happy. He's on his way over, wants a word with all of us - Bodie in particular. You were late, 3.7."

"Yes," agreed Bodie, stiffening a little. "I'm sorry."

Matheson shrugged "Yeah," and left.

"Like hell!" said Doyle.

"You up to moving yet, mate? The old man …"

"… can go and …"

"Can go and what, 4.5?"

"Nothing, sir," said Bodie crisply, moving to block his partner from view. "Ray's not feeling up to much at the moment. Just needs a few minutes to himself."

"Aye?" Arctic blue eyes assessed the room and its occupants. "He'll feel like even less soon. This was supposed to be a covert operation - minimal disturbance. Would either of you care to predict the headlines in tonight's _Standard_? Bodie, my office by eight o'clock. With Doyle - unless he needs a doctor. What's wrong with him?"

"He took Rezini's boot, sir."

"Then more fool him," snapped the Scot, before he stomped out the room, snapping orders to those below.

His shoulders slumping, Bodie stared through the open doorway.

"So why were you late?" demanded a muffled voice.

"Louise unplugged the alarm," said Bodie, without turning. "She didn't think it would hurt if I was late."

Rising to his feet and resisting the urge to clutch the injured area, Doyle straightened with difficulty. "She was wrong there. It hurts a lot. That the best excuse you could come up with?"

Bodie eyed him levelly. "It's the truth. I wouldn't piss around when it involves this mob. I'm sorry."

In no mood to be forgiving, Doyle cave him a venomous glare. "Not half as sorry as I am. Get out of here. I'll see you at HQ."

 

Having loitered around the CIS car park until he saw Doyle arrive, Bodie was left in no doubt that he was out for blood. Although feeling as guilty as hell about his failure to be at Doyle's side, thus negating the need for Tommy's presence, Bodie's own temper had begun to fray under the sting of Doyle's comments in the short time it took them to reach the security desk, where messages from Cowley awaited them.

It was there that they separated, Doyle to see Doctor Masters and Bodie to see Cowley. It would have bit difficult to say which of them gained the least pleasure from their respective appointments.

Moving with considerably more ease as he made his way up to Cowley's office, Doyle found himself accosted by Brian Macklin. His scowl deepened.

"What's all this I hear about Bodie?"

"I dunno, what do you hear?" returned Doyle, stopping only because Brian and a vending machine were blocking the otherwise empty corridor.

"Word is that he's on his way out."

Doyle straightened almost imperceptibly. "Is it?"

"So I hear. Hardly surprising in the circumstances. Cowley won't want him, you don't want him..." Macklin shrugged, muscles rippling.

"Really?" said Doyle, with thinly-veiled dislike.

"Come off it. Or maybe your brain's gone soft. You're bloody lucky not to be singing soprano. Sloppy, letting yourself get caught that easy. Thought I'd trained you better than that. I've had a word with George, see if we can't sharpen your reflexes." Shaking his head, Macklin brushed past Doyle without giving him a chance to reply.

Doyle kicked the vending machine winced, swore, then paused. Bodie might be a stupid prat but he was honest, within limits. Couldn't trust him with  
your birds, or your booze but...

Aware that he could murder a cup of coffee, Doyle fumbled in his pockets for change, then regretfully abandoned the idea, knowing that Cowley was waiting. Unenthusiastically he continued on his way.

The atmosphere throughout the debriefing was icy, Tommy noteable only by his absence. Dismissing Matheson and King with a final, sour glance Cowley turned back to Bodie and Doyle, fixing the latter with a piercing stare.

"What would you say was the major contributing factor to CI5's failure this morning?"

His temper not improved by the Scot's summation of the operation, Doyle returned Cowley's glare. "Apart from the fact there were six people in that house instead of four - and I'll stake my job on the fact we didn't miss them. Not to mention the fact that Tommy got over-enthusiastic? He went in like a one-man army. The rest is history."

''You don't regard Bodie's failure to get there on time as being a material factor?"

"It wouldn't have changed Tommy's mode of entrance. Lucky for us they hadn't got the Ingrams on them or it would've been a blood-bath. The front room was like an arsenal."

"And your own contribution to this debacle?" continued Cowley, his expression giving nothing away.

"Was correct in every way," replied Doyle levelly.

"Oh. You regard covering for your partner as correct?"

Bodie, who had not moved until then, glanced at Doyle, who ignored him. His mouth tightening, Bodie resumed the at-rest position.

"I knew he was on his way in," said Doyle. "You'll have checked that there _was_ a burst water-main. If it hadn't been for that Bodie would’ve been there. What else is there to say?" His tone was far from conciliatory.

Bodie briefly closed his eyes.

After four fluent minutes it was clear Cowley had a great deal to say, all of it to the point. Already humiliated by his own inglorious role, and more by the knowledge that he had risked the lives of not only Doyle but three other agents - not to mention the public - Bodie took it in a stoic silence, knowing Cowley would be taking worse from the publicity-conscious Minister. The press would be giving CI5 a rough ride; the average age of the cell they had broken was twenty, and none of their victims were alive to make their presence felt. There would be no hope of getting a D notice slapped on this one - half of Newham would have been woken by the sound of gun fire. The fact it would have been prudent to exclude Tommy from a low-key operation like this was something no one felt equal to spelling out. There would be no need: Cowley would be aware of it already.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't suspend the pair of you!" finished Cowley angrily.

There was a hostile silence.

"Well?"

Doyle rubbed his nose and said: "I thought it was a rhetorical question, in view of the selection of Tommy on this job. Whatever happened to him in the past, the fact remains that the only thing he's fit for now is some nice little war - preferably a long way from home."

"You're suggesting I made an error of judgement in selecting Tommy?"

It was funny, mused Bodie, wishing himself far, far away, that no one - from Cowley down - ever referred to him as anything but Tommy.

"Not suggesting, no." His face still pinched, and moving no more than was necessary, Doyle met Cowley's gaze without flinching.

There was another abrupt silence.

"And why do you suppose Matheson and King - and even Bodie here - failed to make the same point?" enquired Cowley mildly.

"Probably because they hadn't taken Rezini's size ten where they’d feel it the most," replied Doyle, before he shrugged. "Got nothing else to lose, have I?"

Cowley's mouth gave an unwilling twitch. "Maybe not," he conceded, only then recognising the tactics Doyle had employed to divert attention from his scapegrace partner. Brian had played his part then. Good. He didn't want to lose this particular team.

"Ach, sit yourselves down," he added brusquely, only then deigning to notice Bodie again. "As for your performance today... I've said all I have to on the subject. No doubt Doyle will want to add something on his own account. Buy yourself a portable alarm clock."

"Yes, sir," replied Bodie woodenly.

"4.5?" Cowley indicated the chair.

"Think I'll stand, sir."

"You saw Masters?"

Doyle gave an unenthusiastic nod.

"And?"

"He said I'll live, I just won't enjoy it much for a few days."

"Perhaps next time your reaction time will be a little sharper," said Cowley unsympathetically. "However, you were correct when you pointed out my error of judgement in selecting Tommy."

Doyle thudded onto the chair, making a strangled sound a moment later.

"Yes, sir," said Bodie again, aware that Doyle was temporarily incapable of speech.

"CI5 is not, however, a democracy. I do not expect to have my orders questioned. Clear, 4.5?"

This time Doyle answered for himself. "Yes, sir." There was a small pause. "Sorry, sir."

"For pointing out the obvious?"

Doyle found the wisdom to keep quiet.

"I'll expect your reports on my desk by midday. Doyle, you're not going to be of much use to anyone today. Bodie..." Cowley eyed the younger man's heavy beard stubble and limp-looking evening suit. "On second thoughts, I've no wish to be seen in public with you while you look like that. I'll see the pair of you at seven o'clock tomorrow morning. My office. Don't be late."

Untypically, Bodie said nothing as they escaped into the corridor. Well aware of his own abilities and taking a justifiable pride in them, it rankled to know how much he had been at fault.

If he'd been facing one of Macklin's refresher courses the last thing he would have sought would have been a night on the town. Because he'd been bored by the stakeout and wanted to play oneupmanship games with Doyle, he'd gone ahead with the evening. Even if he'd got there on time he'd have been in no shape for that kind of action. Sloppy. Undisciplined. And potentially lethal.

His mouth compressed, Bodie carried on down the corridor, oblivious to the man at his side.

Opening his mouth, Doyle cast a thoughtful look at his partner's expression and closed it again, concentrating on formulating his report.

 

"You're quiet," Doyle said, having handed a completed tape over to the nearest secretary for transcription.

Bodie did not look up. "Not much to say at the moment, is there."

Ejecting the tiny cassette, he left the room, forced to return a few minutes later to collect his jacket, having suffered a number of comments about his sartorial elegance on the way. To his surprise Doyle was still there, sipping from a half-pint mug.

"Tea's in the pot."

"How did you know it was me?" Bodie demanded.

"From the laughter that preceded you. Don't know why, you don't look that bad in a penguin suit."

"Cheers."

Doyle leant back in his chair and rubbed his face with the hand not curled around his mug. "Come on, snap out of it. So you made a prat of yourself over a bird with more sex-appeal than sense and got caught out. Could've been worse."

"You've changed your tune."

"Had a chance to think."

"That makes a change," growled Bodie, burying his nose in a mug of tea.

"Maybe. Come on, mate, ease up. No point in wallowing in guilt, is there."

Bodie turned so fast that tea slopped over the top of the mug, soaking his left leg. "You're a fine one to lecture me about that."

"That's why I know it doesn't help," said Doyle, with maddening placidity.

A little confused by this change in Doyle's mood, Bodie's scowl deepened. "I shouldn't have spent the night with Louise in the first place."

"I know. So does Cowley. So?"

"So why did you stick up for me with the old man?" Bodie made an accusation of it.

"Dunno. Had time to calm down, I suppose. You couldn't have stopped Tommy any better than we could - the outcome wouldn’t have been any different."

"And that's it, is it?"

"Till the next time you skive off on a stakeout," agreed Doyle, restirring his tea with a ballpoint pen and sucking the end.

"Now we get to it! How long am I going to have to put up with cracks like that!" exploded Bodie, his chair scraping back as he got to his feet.

Unexcited, Doyle looked up. "Knowing my memory, for the next ten years or so - presuming we survive that long, of course. Thing is, you'll know I don't mean anything by it. Won't you? If you're in any doubt," he continued, his voice hardening a little, "we'd do better to jack it in now."

"Is that what you're after - reassignment?" Bodie eyed him narrowly.

"I give up," said Doyle, lifting his eyes heavenwards and finding only the cracked ceiling. "You gone deaf? No. I'm just getting used to you and I'm buggered if I want to risk getting lumbered with a hundred per cent nutter like Tommy. Ninety-five per cent's about my limit."

"Thanks," said Bodie sourly. The one thing worse than Ray Doyle in a temper was a Ray Doyle full of saintly understanding. He resented having to feel grateful to the bastard.

Bodie's mood clearly displayed on his face, Doyle read it with ease and gave an unexpected grin. "So I should think. I'm not up to drawing Cowley's fire on your behalf every day of the week."

"Eh?"

"Think about it," Doyle advised him, finishing his tea.

"You mean you knew what you were doing back in Cowley's office?"  
"Give me some credit. Course I did. And I've had enough excitement for one day, thank you very much. Wonder how he's getting on with the Minister," Doyle added pensively.

Bodie sat down again. "Wonder if I'll still have a job when he gets back."

Aware that this whole episode had bitten deep into his partner's normal assurance, Doyle swallowed his flippant comment. "If Cowley wanted you out you'd be long gone by now. Anyone could see it was the truth. No one but you would have the gall to claim they were late because they were irresistible."

"It was quite a compliment, I suppose," mused Bodie, brightening.

Doyle groaned. "That bloody ego of yours. So are you seeing Louise tonight then?"

Bodie gave him a quelling look.

"I take it that means no," said Doyle, unfazed. "In that case you can give me a lift back to my place."

"What's wrong with your car?" asked Bodie with suspicion, but he followed Doyle out the room.

"You don't want to know," said Doyle, shaking his head sadly.

"Know what?"

"Well, it seems that when you KO'd Belucci with your car door, the bloke two behind you had an accident and steered into a parked car. Mine. He was OK, my car's … You don't want to know, mate. He was driving a Land Rover, you see."

Bodie stopped in his tracks. "Does Cowley know?"

"Not yet. That's why I thought we should get a move on. He's bound to blame you and - Oy! Wait for me," Doyle called plaintively to the fast receding figure.

The words 'car park' floated back down the corridor to him,

 

THE END


End file.
